How come I didn’t see it? “Where did you find it? Is it a credit card?”
Adam handed it to me for a moment, then took it back. It wasn’t a credit card.
“It’s some sort of card.” He bent it. It was pretty elastic.
“Careful,” I said, “don’t crake it.”
Black with a golden border and the size of a regular card, there were no words on it, but a long number.
“I’ve never seen something like this,” Adam stated and took a seat on the couch. He used to work as a teller at a bank. Actually, I worked in banking in the past as well until I got sick. Many cards went through our hands, but none was like this one.
“I think it’s an access code.”
“Like for an office or something?” he asked.
“Maybe. Or for some site on Internet, for an exclusive bank, something like that. You name it. I wonder how come I didn’t find it when I looked through the wallet.”
My son placed it on the table. “It detached from the wallet when started getting dry, I guess,” he concluded and went to his bedroom. “I’m going out for the evening.”
It was the right time for me to get rid of the boxes and put my stuff away. Even though the apartment was small, when I finished the floor was empty. In spite of the little vases with flowers from Michaels, the store, you couldn’t say a new person moved in. I had a bouquet of orange peonies, and two of tulips, pink and yellow. My only painting I brought, a street detail in Paris with a woman holding a red umbrella and looking at the Eiffel Tower, was already on the wall in the living room. Adam didn’t have anything against personalizing my room. And yes, I still needed to go through the kitchen utensils again after bringing my own pots and pans and kind of piling them up on two shelves and behind the cupboard.
Then the siren of the ambulance speared the street. A police car and a firetruck followed and stopped feet away from our place.